Melinda and the Wild West

by Linda Weaver Clarke

  Approaching the bank, she noticed a sign next to the door that said, “The Bank of Montpelier, Established in 1891.” Looking at her watch, Melinda realized she had arrived just in time, before the bank closed.

  The bank president and his friend were visiting on the steps of the bank. When Melinda approached, they cordially greeted her as they tipped their hats and smiled, “Good day, ma’am.”

  Melinda smiled back as she opened the door of the bank. Inside, she asked the teller for papers to open an account. As she was filling out the papers, she heard the door slowly squeak open and shut. Melinda glanced up and saw four men enter with very sober faces: the two gentlemen who were on the steps and two other men who were dressed like cowhands or cowboys. As they entered, she noticed that one of the cowboys mumbled something to the men in front of him who quickly stiffened with fear in their eyes. She looked questioningly at them, wondering what was wrong. Then one of the cowboys closed the door. As they backed away from the gentlemen, she realized they had guns in their hands.

  Melinda gasped, dropping her pen to the floor. Her heart throbbed and her face turned pale as she realized she was witnessing, firsthand, the reason this place was called the “Wild West.” As she watched, her eyes brimmed with anxious tears and her chest tightened.

  “Up against the wall,” the outlaw demanded.

  Melinda looked around and the only other people in the bank were a woman stenographer and a male teller by the name of Mackintosh.

  Melinda was so frightened that her breathing became short and irregular. Her eyes widened with the terror of not knowing what would happen next.

  “Well, well, Cassidy,” the outlaw drawled. “Look what we have here. Two women, and one purtier than I’ve ever seen before.”

  The outlaw’s eyes boldly swept over Melinda, from her hair down to her shoes with a look that sent a chill up her spine. Cassidy seemed to notice the troubled look on Melinda’s face so he quickly intervened.

  “Elza, don’t frighten her. She’s a lady. Look at her dress and the way she holds herself. I saw ladies like her when I went back East last year.”

  Cassidy took off his hat and flashed her a gentle smile. It seemed to her that he had great respect for women. Aunt Martha had told her that most cowboys did. If any cowboy or outlaw showed disrespect to a woman, or treated her inappropriately, his peers soon corrected him for his behavior. Melinda noticed that even though Cassidy did not respect the law, he deeply respected a lady.

  He gave her a charming smile and said softly, “Ma’am, don’t be frightened. I can see you are, but we won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  Melinda stared at him. His voice was kind and his eyes were soft. His manner seemed to contradict everything he represented. He was a nice looking man with a boyish look in his face. His hair was short with bangs parted to the side. Butch Cassidy was known for his charm and quick wit, not to mention his fearlessness and bravery. He had an air of authority about him and no one could mistake that he was the leader of his gang.

  Mr. Gray, the bank president, exclaimed with surprise, “Did you say Cassidy? As in Butch Cassidy, the outlaw?”

  Cassidy grinned and nodded with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he put his hat back on. “Heard of me?”

  Gray tried not to stammer, but it was impossible. “Uh… y-yes, I have. D-don’t they call your gang the Wild Bunch?”

  “They sure do,” he said with pride in his voice. With a command of authority, he looked at everyone. “Now all of you, against the wall so we can do our job.”

  Melinda was standing at the teller’s window, and as Cassidy momentarily turned his attention to the two gentlemen in the corner, Mackintosh leaned over and whispered, “I heard that Cassidy was born in Utah, and was raised by religious parents. When he was a teenager, he went astray and left home to ride with the outlaws, taking on the name of his mentor.”

  Upon hearing this, Melinda realized that others had influenced Cassidy, encouraging him to disregard his parents’ teachings. He could have been an asset to the community but had chosen another direction. How many other children had gone astray simply because of being swayed by friends?

  Elza Lay was a part of Cassidy’s gang, as well as his best friend. Lay was a tall, slender, handsome man known for being a top bronco rider and ranch hand. He was a flirtatious sort of fellow and seemed to have a way with women and horses.

  Elza could not take his eyes off Melinda. His penetrating glare unnerved her and she quickly averted her eyes. As his eyes studied her, he commanded, “Give me your purse.”

  Melinda clutched her purse tightly with both hands. It was the last of her money. The protest inside her wedged in her throat and she could not speak. Her chest tightened until she could scarcely breathe.

  Seeing her panic, Cassidy intervened once again. “Leave her alone, Elza. We have all we need here at the bank.” Turning to the hostages, he demanded, “Now the rest of you, turn around with your faces toward the wall.”

  Elza Lay leaned casually against the writing desk with his revolver pointed at his hostages while Cassidy quickly scooped up the money into a gunnysack.

  Lay turned toward the window as he said, “Hurry, Cassidy. Meeks is holding the horses. You know how nervous he gets.”

  Melinda looked out the window and noticed the third man standing by the horses across the street. She made a mental note of the man’s features just before Lay struck Mackintosh across the face.

  “Where’s the rest of the money?” Lay demanded.

  Losing his balance, Mackintosh bumped into Melinda. She took his arm to steady him and asked in a quiet tone, “Are you all right?”

  He nodded somewhat unconvincingly, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Well, where is the rest of it?” Lay demanded as he stared at Mackintosh.

  “Uh…th-that’s all. Th-there’s no more. We only took in about $7,000.”

  Cassidy shoved the last of the money in the sack. “You know, Elza, I figur’d the best way to hurt ’em is through their pocketbook. I can assure you they will holler louder than if you cut off both legs. In fact, I like to steal their money just to hear ’em holler. Then, just like Robin Hood, I pass it out among those who really need it, taking from the rich and giving to the poor.”

  Melinda remembered hearing how he proclaimed that he was fighting for the settlers’ rights against the rich cattle baron. To some he was a hero but to Melinda and other law-abiding citizens, he was a bandit.

  Cassidy walked to the door and stopped. Looking at Melinda, he gave her a charming smile and nodded. “Ma’am, I’m sorry if we frightened you.”

  Cassidy held the gunnysack in a casual manner and slowly left the bank. He walked nonchalantly across the street as if he did not have a care in the world. He fastened the gunnysack to his saddlebags and then swung himself upon his horse and rode slowly away. No one seemed to take notice of this stranger or suspect anything was wrong as he rode down the street, passing people on his way.

  Melinda noticed that everything was planned down to the last moment. Cassidy apparently never acted without a well-staked-out plan. Watching out the window, she noticed that after Cassidy was out of town, Meeks moved across the street toward the bank with the remaining horses and left Lay’s horse standing in front of the bank. Meeks hopped upon his horse and slowly rode away. Again, no one took notice of the second stranger, riding off down the road.

  Through the bank window, Lay watched Meeks ride out of town. Before he left, he softly stroked Melinda’s cheek with his fingers and gave her a smile that shook her nerves.

  “Bye, purty lady.”

  Melinda’s stomach was all in knots. She wanted to cry out of relief that they were gone, and yet she wanted to give that outlaw a piece of her mind for the way he had frightened everyone. So this was the Wild West that she had been reading about. Melinda found out how wild the West really was, and it was only her third day in town!

  As soon as Elza Lay left the bank and headed down the street on h
is horse, it seemed as if all pandemonium erupted as Gray ran outside and alerted everyone, including the sheriff and deputy. Melinda watched from the window as Deputy Fred Cruikshank took off on his bicycle for home so he could saddle up his horse. Attorney Bagley followed after him so they could immediately take off together, while Sheriff Jefferson Davis called for a posse, which only took minutes to do.

  Melinda walked outside to watch all the commotion. As they sped down the street, Melinda watched in awe as each man passed her on his horse with a revolver buckled at his hip.

  Mackintosh walked up to her and said, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  She nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat before answering, “I’m the new schoolteacher in Paris.”

  “Well, this sure is a way to welcome a new school teacher. Are you all right? You look a bit shaken.”

  She nodded again as she wiped her hands nervously against her skirt. It was hard to speak. Her mouth was dry, her hands were damp, her face was ashen, and her mind was in a whirl.

  “You know, ma’am, the thirteenth was the cause of it all.”

  Melinda stared at Macintosh and looked puzzled.

  “Yes, the thirteenth. You see, today is the thirteenth day of the month; it took place after the thirteenth deposit had been made today in the amount of thirteen dollars; and the robbery transpired at thirteen minutes after three o’clock.”

  Chapter 4

  THE TROUBLED CHILD

  Melinda felt that she had now been officially introduced to the western world. Everything she had read in books about the West was coming to life before her very eyes. The funny thing about it was that she had expected an outlaw to look ugly and mean, but Cassidy did not look that way. Melinda could not help but wonder, what made a person go the direction that Cassidy did? She knew parents needed help from others to keep their child on the straight-and-narrow path. Where was the community to lend a hand? Where were the teachers to help instill values? This was something to think about. Melinda vowed that she would be ready. If she came upon a child who needed help, she would be there.

  It was the first day of school and Melinda wanted to look her best. After dressing, she quickly ran downstairs and into the kitchen for a bite to eat, and then out the door she ran with her books in hand.

  After arriving at school, she placed a notebook and a yellow pencil at each desk. The color yellow was new. Usually the pencils were wooden with no color at all, but the pencil manufacturers had recently decided to color the pencils yellow for a very good reason. The best graphite for pencils came from China. American pencil manufacturers wanted to let people know that their pencils contained Chinese graphite, and in China the color yellow represented royalty and respect. So, American pencil manufacturers decided to paint their pencils bright yellow.

  Nervous, Melinda stood in front of her desk, quietly awaiting her students. They seemed to trickle in one at a time and then a few more came in bunches, laughing and talking as they found their seats. They sat down and folded their arms, staring at her and waiting for instructions.

  The children ranged in age, and Melinda knew that she would have to divide the children up to teach them. Looking into their faces and yearning to be accepted, she took one step toward the students.

  “I’m Miss Gamble. I come from Boston, Massachusetts, and I used to live by the Atlantic Ocean. How many of you have seen the ocean?”

  All of them shook their heads.

  “Well, the beaches are usually full of shells. And when you walk along the beach, you can find shells strewn before your feet, lying on the white sand. If you take a bucket along, you can pick them up and collect them. Usually they are small shells and many are broken from the pounding of the waves.”

  Melinda held up a conch shell for everyone to see. Then she walked past each of the students to let them feel the smoothness of the shell. As she walked toward the back of the class, she noticed the edge of a desk behind the bookshelf. Peering around the shelf, she was surprised to see a young student sitting at the desk with her head lying upon her arms, and her eyes were closed.

  With a calm voice, Melinda asked, “What are you doing here? Why is your desk separated from the rest of the students?”

  One of the students said in a condescending manner, “That’s where she’s supposed to sit.”

  “Why?” Melinda was startled by such an answer.

  “Our last teacher told her that she had to sit there from now on and she can’t sit with the other students. He said that she’s a troublemaker. She has to be out of sight until she can learn to behave.”

  Another student volunteered, “And she fights with other kids, too.”

  Another student stood and pointed accusingly at the young girl. “And she doesn’t want to learn, either. She just sits there and won’t say a thing. She won’t open her book and she won’t do her lessons. She doesn’t write or read. All she does is frown.”

  Melinda was shocked that a teacher would actually isolate this child from the rest of the class. She was appalled that he would tell the rest of the students that she was a troublemaker and degrade her in front of her peers. How could a teacher do such a thing? What kind of example was he setting about the acceptance of others? She was infuriated by this new knowledge.

  “No wonder she frowns. If I were treated like this, I would, too. Class, I have put notebooks and a pencil on your desk. Will you please write down your feelings about your first day at school?”

  Melinda knelt down and looked at the young girl. She had opened her eyes and was staring at her desk in defiance. She had on a very pretty blue-flowered dress and her blond hair was neatly braided in the back. Her face was clean and her blue eyes seemed angry.

  “What’s your name?” Melinda asked in a gentle tone.

  The girl said nothing but just glared at Melinda. She knew that this girl had been treated badly by another teacher and now she must try to undo all of that in order to earn this girl’s trust. Apparently she was taken care of at home because she was clean and neat. But what was making her so angry? Was it the rejection of the other students or a problem at home?

  Once again, she spoke to the young girl. “My name is Miss Gamble. I will be your new teacher from now on. What is your name?”

  The girl turned her head toward the wall and did not answer. Rebelliousness was written all over her face.

  One of the students turned around and said, “Her name is Jenny. She won’t talk. She usually doesn’t.”

  Melinda raised her eyebrows. So, this was Jenny. Looking at the other students writing diligently, she wondered what to do. Then, looking at the young girl at her desk, she decided to try another method. Knowing that she needed some private time with her, Melinda dismissed the students for ten minutes of free time outside. The class cheered and ran out to play.

  After the last student left, Melinda looked into Jenny’s eyes. “Jenny, what is your favorite color?”

  Jenny stared at the wall, her mouth pursed tightly in a straight line with her eyes full of defiance.

  “Mine is pink and lavender. I like those colors, so I usually pick them for my dresses. How about you?”

  Still no answer.

  “Is it blue? You have on a very pretty dress, Jenny. I love the blue flowers. And you have very pretty blue eyes, the color of the lake. Your favorite color must be blue. Is that right?”

  The hard, angry look in her eyes began to soften. Jenny looked at Melinda and nodded curtly.

  At last she got a response. That was a beginning. Melinda stroked Jenny’s hair and said, “Your hair is so pretty. When I was little, I wanted to have hair the color of wheat, just like yours. But look what color it is. To have hair the color of wheat is very lucky, Jenny.” At last a slight smile came to Jenny’s lips. “Your hair is braided so nicely. Who braids it? Your mother?”

  Melinda instantly remembered that Aunt Martha had mentioned Jenny did not have a mother. She had stuck her foot in her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do w
as make Jenny feel bad.

  The corners of Jenny’s mouth gradually turned up. “No, I don’t have a mother. Pa does it. I tried once but it looked messy, so Pa says I’ve got to keep trying. He says to not give up.”

  Melinda was elated. She was able to break the barrier between them. “Your father is right, Jenny.”

  Melinda knew that her next question would be personal, but she needed to know. If things were not right at home, that could be another problem that Jenny would bring to school. She needed to know if Jenny was mistreated or not.

  “Is your pa a good father and do you love him?”

  Jenny’s eyes brightened with love and she smiled at Melinda and nodded. Melinda could tell that Jenny loved her father very much and she sighed with relief.

  “I’m glad. Where do you live, Jenny?”

  Melinda knew approximately where Jenny lived, but she needed Jenny to talk to her. If she could get her to communicate, then she would be making progress.

  In a most quiet tone of voice, Jenny answered, “On a ranch not too far from here.”

  Melinda lowered her eyes and said quietly, “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  Jenny smiled. “That’s all right. I never knew her.”

  “So, Jenny, what’s your favorite subject in school?”

  Instantly the mood changed and the corners of Jenny’s mouth turned down into a frown. She blurted out with anger, “Don’t have one.”

  “But there must be something that you enjoy about school.”

  Jenny’s frown remained and the defiance in her eyes returned as she quickly shook her head.

  When Melinda noticed that Jenny’s attitude had changed, she decided to change the subject. Apparently school was the wrong subject. She wanted Jenny to speak with happier tones, so she decided to ask her about the people she loved. “Do you have a grandmother or grandfather nearby?”

  “My grandpa and grandma live in the East. I don’t get to see them often. And my other ones live a day’s journey from here and that’s my pa’s folks.”